


Timshel

by crumbsfiction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crumbsfiction/pseuds/crumbsfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While trying to organize his little brother's wedding, Dean Winchester runs into the florist Castiel. Somehow, the two of them are the only ones incapable of seeing what's really happening between them both, and do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

”Dean Winchester, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m personally going to castrate you, is that clear?”

Dean sighs, placing the cell phone between the shoulder and cheek as he tries, and fails, to pull on a t-shirt while talking on the phone. “Don’t worry Jess, I’ll be there pronto,” he promises and hangs up before she can protest. 

He gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror. Dean is fairly content with what he sees, although he didn’t get all of the motor oil out of his skin, no matter how many times he scrubbed his hands. He supposed that was the prize he has to pay for working with what he loves most, and he is more than willing to pay it.

But right now, he was running late, and he had no doubts that his little brother’s fiancée would go through with her threat if he didn’t get moving. Dean rather liked his testicles where they were, thank you very much. 

The reception itself wouldn’t start in a good three hours, but Dean, entitled best man, had promised to help getting everything ready before the guests arrive. Grabbing the huge plastic bag containing his tux, he is out the door, almost forgetting to lock it behind him. 

He speeds of in his 72 Chevy pick-up truck, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get there on time anyway, clock just striking eleven o’clock as he pulls into the parking lot.

The wedding is going to take place in a hotel, one of the super fancy ones with pillars and marble floor and a ceiling with paintings six meters above their heads. Before he can take a full look at the room, something, or rather someone, tackles him from behind and Dean almost falls face-first into the marble floor.

“Wow, you’re really weak,” says a voice behind him and Dean spins around to find his brother looking down on him. Damn him and his insane tallness.

“Wasn’t prepared, that’s all,” Dean snorts. “I could take you any day.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.” Sam replies, and the brothers would have started wrestling right then and there if Jess hadn’t walked in. She looked as gorgeous as ever, dressed casually in jeans and a tank top, wavy blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. He sees his brother’s entire face light up as he sees her approaching, and Dean smiles. Sam has really found the perfect girl for himself.

“Boys, please.” Jess says with fake exasperation. “The grown-ups are trying to fix a wedding here.”

“Whatever you say, Ms. Winchester,” Dean replies with a wink. 

Jess blushes a little at that. “Not yet. Dean, can you help setting up the lights up front? I don’t trust those electricians as far as I can throw them.”

Dean nods and stalks of towards the front of the room. The front is a bit higher than the rest of the room, two steps leading up to a small platform. His best guess is that Sam and Jess will be standing in the middle of the platform so that the guest can get a better view of the happy couple.

Grabbing a few tools from a toolbox on the ground, Dean gets to work. He’s already put up and plugged in two of the lights when the double doors to the wedding room swing open and three big carts roll in. On top of the carts, several big flower arrangements with white, pink and purple flowers are balancing dangerously

Shrugging, Dean goes back to fastening his lamp holder until he is interrupted by a deep voice coming from behind his back. “Excuse me?” the voice says and Dean thinks to himself that it sounds just like gravel on rocks.

Dean spins around and finds himself face to face with the most handsome man he has ever seen. Dark brown hair sticking up like he just rolled out of bed, eyes bluer than the freaking sky, and Dean catches himself staring. “I’m sorry, I’m looking for someone in charge of this wedding? We need to know where we should put the flower arrangements.”

It takes a moment for Pretty Blue Eyes’ words to sink in, but Dean eventually manages to compose himself somewhat and says, “Sure, that would be Jess. The bride, I mean. I can show you the way, if you want.”

“Thank you, that would be great.” And Pretty Blue Eyes smiles a smile that isn’t as much an upwards turning of the lips as it is a smile with those goddamn blue eyes. 

Putting his tools down on a nearby stool, Dean starts scanning the room for bright blonde hair. From his position on the small platform, he spots Jess in the far corner of the room, chatting to someone who Dean thinks is going to fix the music for the party after the ceremony. “There,” Dean says and points. “I can see her.” 

Pretty Blue Eyes nods and together they start crossing the room, zigzagging between the cleaning staff and the caterers and what not. As they reach her, Dean calls out Jess’ name to get her attention and she turns to face the two men. “This is… uh.” Dean starts.

“Castiel,” Pretty Blue Eyes fills in, offering Jess his hand to shake. “From Heavenly Flowers. We just brought your arrangements in; could you tell us where to put them?” 

As Jess starts showing Pretty Blue Eyes, Castiel, around, pointing and discussing the location of the arrangements, Dean slinks back to his spot on the platform, putting the lights up. He does his best to keep his mind on the task before him, which is annoyingly difficult. He’s working on his fifth and last light, plugging the chord in and testing the lamp as a voice says, once again right behind his back, “Is she your sister?”

Dean jumps, dropping the screwdriver he was holding. “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says as Dean turns around, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. In fact, Castiel is smiling a little and Dean notices that the guy doesn’t blink a lot.

“Apology accepted, then,” Dean repiles. “You were saying?”

“I said, is she your sister?” Castiel asks, tilting his head in a way that is not totally adorable at all. Of course not. 

“Jess? Oh no, she’s my brothers fiancée. Wife-to-be.” 

Castiel nods at that, thoughtful expression on his face. “She’s nice.”

“Yeah, she is. Sammy is a lucky boy.” Dean smiles. 

“Your brother?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, my little bro. He’s probably hiding away somewhere, pretending he’s not nervous at all.”

Castiel laughs at that, an actual laugh, and Dean finds himself wanting more. “No offence though, but I think “Heavenly Flowers” has to be the corniest name of a flower shop I’ve heard in my life.”

Castiel snorts. “Tell me about it. I’m named after an angel though, so maybe it’s suiting.”

“Religious parents?” Dean asks and as soon as it’s out of his mouth, he wants to slap himself. He doesn’t even know the guy, and he’s already asking about his parents?

Castiel is about to answer when a light-haired man with a v-neck shirt and a british accent calls out; “Cassie, come on! We don’t have all day.” 

Castiel shouts back, “Coming, Balthazar!” to the man and then turns back to Dean. “What’s your name?” he asks and starts backing away from Dean, towards the edge of the platform.

“I’m Dean.”

“Then it was very nice to meet you, Dean.” Castiel says and turns to jog down towards Balthazar, standing by the front door.

“See you, Castiel,” Dean mumbles, but Castiel has already disappeared behind the double doors.

Picking the screwdriver from where he dropped it on the ground, Dean takes a deep breath. 

He’s in real deep shit now.

xxx

Castiel was having a bad day. He was out of coffee and the flower arrangement he was making refused to come together the way he wanted it to. 

“Try lilies,” Balthazar piped up from his spot on top of the counter. “We’ve got some new purple ones, fresh in this morning.”

Castiel just groans, resisting the urge to small his head into the worktable. 

“Or, you know, don’t. Your call, sunshine.” Balthazar sighs, picking up a magazine from under the counter. Castiel is willing to bet his job that he’d rather not know the exact contents of said magazine, so he picks up the purple lilies as well as some white and pink Diamond Clarkia and gets back to work. It’s the last one in a set of arrangements, this once, in fact, being a bouquet. The bridal bouquet, no less. 

“Lilies are too big, Balthazar. It’ll look weird.” 

“Try pink and white roses then, with purple daisies to go with. Something small and white as well.”

Castiel holds up the Diamond Clarkia. “Yes, exactly!” Balthazar exclaims, hopping down from the counter. The man walks over to one of the large glass cabinets, picking out some pink roses, a few white, as well as some purple daisies. “There you go, darling. Get your cute little butt to work,” Balthazar says with a wink and hands Castiel the flowers. 

Castiel just rolls his eyes, long since used to Balthazar’s flirting. He does it with everyone, and though Castiel thinks he can be kind of a jerk, he usually manages to charm all of their clients, gender irrelevant. 

Speaking of clients, it’s a slow day. There was a man picking up a small bouquet of red roses as well as a card that said “Sorry!” this morning, but since then, the shop had been empty of customers. Castiel doesn’t mind though, putting his mind and heart into the task of creating the perfect bridal bouquet for the wedding. By the time the clock strikes eleven, he’s finally done, and starts wrapping a light pink ribbon around the shafts of the flowers. Holding the bouquet in Balthazar’s face, his superior looks up from his magazine and smiles. “Gorgeous, love. We should be on our way though, they wanted all the arrangements there by noon. I’ll go talk to Anna, see if she can watch the shop for a sec, okay?” 

Castiel agrees, and Balthazar disappears behind the curtains in the far back of the store. Anna usually works in the office behind the shop, dealing with things like orders and requests, but she often agrees to watch the store and take care of clients when the usual staff is out delivering arrangements. 

The redheaded woman emerges from the office with Balthazar in tow and nods at Castiel, who nods at her in return.

“Well then, we should be off. Sure you’ll be okay here all alone, sweetheart?” Balthazar asks Anna, who just sighs and rolls her eyes. “You’re hopeless,” she tells the Brit, who blows her a kiss in return. “Whatever you say, darling.”

It doesn’t take long to pack all the arrangements onto carts and put the carts in the white van, courtesy of Heavenly Flowers. The drive to the hotel where the wedding will take place is mostly quiet, Balthazar driving and blasting horrible music in the speakers while Castiel is in the passenger seat, staring out the window. They arrive about ten minutes later and immediately start rolling out the carts, from the back of the hotel and into the wedding room. 

The room can’t be described as anything less than beautiful. A long, baige carpet covering the marble floor between the rows of benches, crystal crowns in the ceiling and a platform in the front for the bridal couple to stand on during the ceremony.

“You go ask someone where everything is going, I’ll double-check the arrangements, okay?” Balthazar says, not visibly impressed by the wedding room. Castiel nods and heads towards the platform where he can see a man putting up some spotlights. Castiel clears his throat and says, “Excuse me,” and then all he can see is a pair of stunningly green eyes. They’re both quiet for a while, until Castiel manages to ask about someone in charge of the wedding, and he is being led through the room by the gorgeous man, now dubbed “Freckles” in his head. Freckles lead him to a pretty woman called Jess, bride of the wedding, and he is snapped back into work-mode. Putting all the flower arrangements in the right spots, touching up the table pieces created for the dinner party after the ceremony and making sure that the shafts are sufficiently moisturized, Castiel is content with his work. 

He finds Freckles still at work with the lamps, and with a deep breath, he walks up the steps to the platform and says the first thing he can think of; “Is she your sister?”

Conversation flows easy after Freckles gets over the mini-heart attack he got from Castiel’s reappearance. Castiel finds himself enjoying speaking to the other man, something that doesn’t happen a lot and when Balthazar interrupts their conversation, he is almost a little disappointed. As he’s backing away from Freckles, he asks, “What’s your name?” In a fit of curiosity and as he jogs out of the wedding room, he thinks that maybe, he’d like to see Dean again.

“What the hell are you smiling about?” Balthazar asks when they’re both in the car again. Castiel doesn’t reply, just thinks of green eyes and light brown hair.

This is going to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, comments are always welcome! Next chapter will be up shortly.


	2. Hold on to your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, an update. Chapter title from Of Monsters and Men's "Your bones". Enjoy!

The wedding is beautiful. Jess looks stunning in her long, white dress, and Dean must admit that his little brother looks damn good in a tux. They say their vows, exchange rings, and Dean does _not_ shed a tear when the couple is announced man and wife and share their first kiss as a married couple.

During the dinner party afterwards, Sam walks up to him, happiness written all over his face. “Dean, dad’s here!” he announces and Dean must admit that he is quite surprised.

John Winchester had promised to show up at his youngest son’s wedding, but with his drinking problems and inability to keep a promise for his life, Dean knew that Sam didn’t expect their father to come at all. Sam had never shared the close relationship with their dad that Dean did, but he’s still their dad and Dean is happy for Sam’s sake.

He spots John later, chatting with another guest, and Dean thinks that he seems surprisingly sober, considering it’s already eleven o’clock in the evening.

The night passes in a blur after that. The newlyweds dance and Dean is surprised with how well his Sammy’s long, gangly limps follow the rhythm of the music. Jess has probably been drilling him like crazy the last few weeks.

By the end of the night, Dean finds himself by one of the round dining tables, taking to Bobby Singer, who’s sitting in his wheelchair, nursing a bottle of beer.

To Dean and Sam, Bobby has always been like a second father. After their mom died in a car crash when they were small, Bobby has been filling in where John’s efforts just weren’t enough. Making sure they got to and home from school as kids, buying them food when the family’s bank account was transformed into bottle after bottle of whiskey in the fridge and recently, taking in John to live in his house.

“He looks good,” Dean says, fingering the neck of his beer bottle.

“Sammy?” Bobby asks, taking a swing of his own beer.

Dean smiles at that, watching Sam’s laughing face, arm around Jess’ waist. “Him as well, I suppose. But I was talking about dad. Don’t think I’ve seen him still on his feet past ten o’clock in my life.”

“I think working in the salvage yard’s been helping him a bit. Keeping his mind on other things and all that.”

“It’s very selfless, taking care of him like that, Bobby,” Dean mumbles and curses the alcohol for tearing down his usual hard exterior. He’s turning into a girl, he swears to God.

Bobby doesn’t seem to mind. “He’s my friend, boy. Basically family. And if there’s something good you’ve taken after your father, it’s always keeping close to your family. It’s all we’ve got in the end, after all,” he replies, finishing his bottle of beer.

“Stop it, Bobby, you’re making me all teary eyed,” Dean teases with a chuckle.

Bobby just snorts and swats him over the head. “Can’t an old man say what he thinks without getting mocked anymore?”

Dean just grins. “Sorry Bobby, doesn’t look like it.”

Later, he talks to Sam and Jess, who are both grinning like they won the lottery, congratulating them over and over. He shares a few words with his father who, miraculously, is still sober at two o’ clock in the morning. As Dean is about to leave, John even grabs his son’s arm and pulls him into a crushing hug.

“Dad, what-“, Dean manages out before his face is forced into John’s shoulder, mouth hitting the fabric of his blazer.

“Drive safe, son,” John says as he lets him go, and Dean can only nod in stunned silence. He’s not the touchy-feely type guy, but John is, if possible, even worse with physical signs of affection than Dean. As he drives home, Dean wonders if he imagined the whole thing.

That night, he dreams of dancing flowers and whiskey bottles driving big cars.

-

The following week passes quickly. Dean works at the garage six days in a row, fixing up a beautiful, green Chrysler New Yorker. He enjoys it, spending his days outside under a car, music blasting from the stereo he keeps by his workplace.

One afternoon, he helps Jess and Sam sorting their wedding gifts, making lists of toasters and patchwork quilts and who were they going to send that Thank You-card again?

Castiel doesn’t even cross his mind until he drives past a shop in the center of the city, the words _Heavenly Flowers_ printed on the large sign over the door, complete with a floating halo over the text. He makes a quick U-turn by the end of the street, going back the same way he came. He slows down as he drives past the shop, looking through the window for any sign of the blue-eyed florist.

After realizing he can’t see a damn thing because of the flowers in the display window, he parks his Chevy in the closest turning and gets out of the car, grabbing his wallet from the passenger seat.

“What the hell am I doing,” Dean asks himself as he walks up to the door of the flower shop. It tings as he opens it and Dean is hit by the heavy smell of fresh flowers.

A red-headed girl is standing behind the counter, smiling at him as he walks into the store which, except for an old lady picking out potted plants from a table, seems empty.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you with anything?”

Dean tries to think fast, to come with up with some kind of excuse for him to be sneaking around _Heavenly Flowers_ of all places.

“Yes, in fact, I’m looking for Thank You-cards? For a wedding,” he lies, though Jess has already bought enough cards to last herself, Sam and Dean a lifetime.

The redhead smiles at him and points towards a rack of cards on the far end of the shop. “We’ve got all our cards there. Hope you find something suiting,” she says.

Dean thanks her and makes his way to the rack, picking up the first package of cards he sees. They’re white with pink flowers in the corners and a teddy bear is holding up a sign with the words “Thank You!” in the middle. Good enough, Dean thinks.

He pays for the cards, which are ridiculously expensive for a piece of cardboard in Dean’s opinion, and is about to grab his receipt and leave as the green curtain behind the counter is pushed to the side and a familiar voice says, “Anna, we’re back, I’ll take over the shop if you want to- Dean?”

Castiel’s hair is even messier than the last time Dean saw him, and he’s holding a bouquet of some reddish flower Dean doesn’t recognize.

“Castiel, hey,” Dean says shooting his most charming smile in the florist’s direction. The redhead, Anna, shoots them both a look and disappears behind the curtain to the back of the shop.

“What brings you to the neighborhood?” Castiel asks, grabbing a glass vase for the flowers he’s holding.

“Oh, you know. Picking up some cards for the happy couple,” Dean lies, and Castiel nods. “The wedding went well?” He asks, carefully measuring out some kind of liquid, which Dean guesses is nutrition and pouring it into the water in the vase.

“Yeah, it was great. Very nice. Jess loved the flowers,” Dean replies, leaning against the counter.

Castiel shoots him a smile at that. “I’m glad,” he says and puts the bouquet in the water.

Dean is about to say something else when the British man he remembers as Balthazar walks in from behind the curtain. “Well hello there, darling,” the blonde says, offering a hand. “I recognize that pretty face of yours, have we met before?”

Dean shakes the offered hand and shoots Castiel a look. The blue eyed man is rolling his eyes, putting the vase away on a nearby table. “Don’t do that, Balthazar, you’ll scare away the customers.” Then, at Dean, he says, “I apologize on the behalf of my colleague. And yes, he’s always like that.”

“Always like what, Cassie? Exceptionally charming and handsome?”

“More like exceptionally annoying and full of yourself,” Castiel shoots back and Dean barks a laugh.

“Well it was nice to meet you again, Cas,” Dean says, the nickname coming out before he can stop it.

Castiel doesn’t seem to mind, just smiles another of those half-smiles and says, “Likewise, Dean. You’re more than welcome back here if you ever get overwhelmed by the urge to buy some cards or flowers. I’m almost always here, except when Anna forces me to take this thing called ‘vacation’. Apparently it’s good for you.”

Dean snorts and picks up his pack of cards from the table. “Well, maybe I’ll be back,” he says. “You never know when you need some flowers.”

“Agreed,” Castiel replies and Dean heads for the door as Balthazar calls after him, “See you around, sweetheart.”

Dean hears the unmistakable sound of a slap before the door closes behind him.

-

It’s the vibration of the phone that wakes him up in the middle of the night, not the ringing. He can hear it buzzing somewhere on the nightstand by his bed and fumbles in the dark after it, not wanting to turn on the lights. Dean flips the cell open and answers with a sour “What.”

“Dean, it’s me,” Bobby’s familiar voice says on the other end.

“You better have a damn good reason for calling me at… three in the morning, you know,” Dean mumbles, glancing at the alarm clock by his bed.

“I’m at the hospital.”

That grabs Dean’s attention and he bolts out of bed the sheets were on fire. “What? Are you okay? What happened?” Dean rambles as he pulls on a pair of jeans that he left on the floor before going to sleep.

“I’m fine, it’s John who’s… not so great,” Bobby says and Dean’s blood runs cold.

“Have you talked to Sam?” He asks, grabbing a t-shirt from the pile.

“I just called him,” Bobby replies, “He’s on his way here.”

Dean scrambles to the door, grabbing his keys from the hook next to it and locking the apartment door behind him as he goes.

“And where, exactly, is ‘here’?” Dean asks and takes mental notes as Bobby gives him the directions.

It’s not until Dean hangs up, already speeding down the highway to the hospital that he realizes that he forgot his shoes.

-

Sam is already there when Dean arrives, his long limbs curled up in a small armchair in a way that looks very uncomfortable. He looks up when Dean walks into the hospital room, but the older Winchester keeps his eyes fixed on their dad, lying motionless in the metal framed bed, eyes closed. There are needles in his arms, needles connected to small tubes connected to bags of liquid. There’s a machine attached to the tubes going from John’s mouth and connected to the tubes-

Dean’s heart drops. A respirator. His dad can’t breathe for himself.

“They say he’s got a high chance of rebound since Bobby took him in so quickly. And it’s not a very big bleeding either. It wasn’t an artery,” Sam’s voice says behind him, voice catching on the last few syllables.

Dean doesn’t reply, just pulls the empty armchair next to Sam closer to his brother’s. He curls up into it in a way similar to how Sam is sitting and the two brothers share the silence for a while. Dean feels his eyelids growing heavier and heavier as time passes, lulled back into sleep by the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor. He feels Sam’s head dropping down on his shoulder breathing already steady and deep from sleep.

Dean wakes up with a start when the stable beeping sound changes to a long, stretched out tone and the nurses burst through the door just as the heart rate monitor flat-lines.


	3. I'll carve your name out of the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from The Airborne Toxic Event's "The Graveyard Near The House". Enjoy!

Castiel is working on a special order, a complicated table piece for a birthday party, when Anna walks up to his working table in a corner of the shop.

“New order,” she says, slamming down a folder on his table.

“Give it to Balthazar instead. I’m working on this one,” Castiel answers, not looking up from the flower arrangement in front of him.

“Balthazar is busy,” Anna says. “And this order is to be delivered by Friday, you’ve got enough time to do both.”

Sighing, Castiel picks up the folder from the table and eyes the contents lazily. A funeral order, two table pieces, ordered in the name of- _oh_.

“Sure,” he tells Anna. “I’ll do it.” If she notices his sudden change in attitude, she doesn’t mention it as she disappears back into the office.

Putting the folder back on the table, Castiel makes quick work of the table piece he’s been working on for the past few hours. Orange Camellia, yellow Helianthus red Peonies blend together and create the exact effect Castiel was after, a sunset-coloured piece with a few dark greens at the bottom as foundation. Satisfied with his creation, Castiel takes it to the back of the shop to be loaded into the company’s van.

Returning to his working table, Castiel sits down and starts to think. The pieces are to be delivered Friday, the day after tomorrow. Which means he can’t start working on the arrangements until tomorrow if they’re going to stay fresh until Friday.

Opening his notepad at a blank page, Castiel starts sketching and scribbling down notes and names, planning the two pieces out. He’s going to make them identical, two mellow and soft arrangements, light colours with lots of white and greens, maybe some light pink or purple. White ribbons to go with.

The piece is still swirling around his head as he walks home after closing down the shop that evening. He’s done funeral pieces before, of course, but this one feels different. He wants it to look good, not because of his reputation as a florist, but because of who will be there to see it.

The Winchester family has apparently suffered a great loss, though Castiel doesn’t know who, and he feels a bit guilty for wanting to impress during these circumstances. But, he supposes, the least he can do is a nice piece for the funeral, and if he put in some extra effort into it, no one will be the wiser.

Thursday comes and goes, and Castiel spends the whole day by his working table, putting the two arrangements together. Balthazar comes over to look a few times, offering advice and coffee and none of his usual sarcastic comments whatsoever. Castiel suspects that he saw Dean’s name on the order and claimed himself ‘busy’ pronto. Why, Castiel has no idea, but judging by the smirk on his colleague’s face as he flips through another highly suspect magazine, he knows something Castiel doesn’t. Which isn’t really all that uncommon, so he goes back to his work with the arrangements.

By the time he’s finished, it’s already closing time. Castiel puts away the strings, excess leaves and scissors and calls Balthazar, who’s changing the water in a vase of roses. “Come here a second,” Castiel says, doing a waving motion with his hand.

Balthazar stalks over to the other side of the shop and glances at the pieces from over Castiel’s shoulder. “They’re gorgeous,” he says, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“You think so?” Castiel asks, genuinely surprised. He knew they looked good, but Balthazar usually had opinions on something that could be changed.

“Oh yes. Almost as gorgeous as that handsome young lad who came in the other day, don’t you think? This ‘Sam Winchester’ who ordered flowers for a wedding two weeks ago doesn’t happen to be related to this…” Balthazar pauses to pick up the folder containing the order, “Dean Winchester? The same Dean that was here and made you blush red like a twelve year old girl with her first crush?” the Brit finishes, giving Castiel’s ass a firm squeeze as he walks away. “You can’t hide nothing from me, Cassie darling,” he sing-songs.

“I didn’t blush!” Castiel sputters and storms after his colleague into the kitchenette area in the back of the shop.

“Oh yes you were,” Balthazar snorts. “I thought you would jump his bones right there and then on top of the counter.”

Castiel doesn’t even bother answering, just grabs his trench coat from the hangers by the microwave.

“Okay, okay, I’m over-exaggerating a little,” Balthazar says, blocking the way between Castiel and his rescue, the front door. “A _little?_ ” Castiel asks, but Balthazar holds up a hand to silence him.  “A little, yes. _But_ you should talk to him again. Seems like a nice chap, I think.” And with that said, Balthazar turns on his feet with a wink and walks out of the shop, doorbell tingling as he leaves.

Castiel is left in the dark, muttering to himself about what he would do with his superior if he didn’t have to go to jail for it.

-

The funeral is at eleven o’clock, so Castiel is in a hurry when he loads the two table pieces into the white van. After giving them both a once-over, he drives off on his own. It’s Anna’s day off, so Balthazar has to stay and take care of the shop. Not like Castiel minds all that much, the Brit pestering him all morning about everything between heaven and hell.

The flowers are to be delivered to the dining hall next to the central church, and Castiel takes a wrong turn twice on his way there. Eventually he manages to park the van by the small house, maneuvering the vehicle so its back is pointed towards the front door, making it easier to unload the two arrangements.

The pieces are heavy, and Castiel almost trips on the stairs leading up to the front door. Balancing the flowers between the railing and his body, the florist pushes the door open with his shoulder.

The inside of the empty house has been sparsely decorated, two tables covered by a white tablecloth, and Castiel figures that he should put the flowers there. He places the first arrangement on one table and gets the other one to put on the other table. After a final touch-up, Castiel is satisfied with his work and turns to leave. As he opens the front door, ready to step out, he finds himself face to face with no one less than Dean Winchester himself, his hand raised in door handle level, as if he was about to turn the knob.

“Cas,” Dean says, not breaking eye contact.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel answer, and quickly adds, “I’m sorry for your loss. Was it someone close to you?” and immediately wants to slap himself. The flowers were ordered in Dean’s name, of course it was someone close.

“Yeah, yeah it was… it was dad. A stroke, went really quickly. Probably didn’t feel a damn thing,” Dean replies, looking down at his shoes, but Castiel picks up on the pain in his eyes, new and raw, and he presumes than Dean was close to his father.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel mumbles, not sure what else to say.

“Can’t say I didn’t see it coming. He had a… certain love for the old bottle, always had,” Dean says, a hint of bitterness sneaking into his voice. “Why am I telling you this, anyway? You’ve probably got work to do.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind,” Castiel says, and he means it. He wouldn’t mind hearing all about this man in front of him, listen to him talking in all eternity about his family or his job or unicorns or whatever. He wouldn’t mind at all, and Castiel wonders why. He usually get bored with people within minutes of meeting them, one of his many flaws.

“Mhm,” Dean says, and there is a faint hint of an upwards turning in the corner of Dean’s lips. It’s barely there, but Castiel can see it, and mentally pats himself on the back. “Anyway, I should get going. Let you do your job and all that,” he adds quickly, shuffling his shoe against the doorstep. 

Castiel nods quickly and the two of them circle each other as they change places on the steps, Dean going into the house, Castiel going out. “Once again, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Castiel says as he turns to leave. “Please pass on my condolences to Sam and Jess as well.”

“Will do,” Dean says, smiling that not-quite-there-but-almost smile again.

“And if you ever want to talk, you know where you’ll find me,” Castiel blurts out before he can stop himself. Dean looks a tiny bit surprised that, but quickly composes himself. “Sure, Cas. I’ll see you around.”

“Absolutely,” Castiel replies, and then turns on his heels and flees.

Well inside the safety of his car, he takes three deep breaths before turning on the engine. What in the world has gotten into him now?

-

A week later, Castiel is changing the water in the dark plastic vases holding their different kind of roses when he gets a sudden idea. A stupid, probably even reckless idea, but at this point, Castiel will take his chances. So during his half-hour long lunch break, the florist finds himself sneaking through their archive of orders, specifically the most recent ones from one to two weeks ago. He’s browsing the shelves of folders when- _there._ He pulls the black folder out of the shelf flipping it open. _Order from Dean Winchester_ , it says and printed right below the name of the client, a phone number.

Castiel quickly enters the digits into his phone, putting the folder back to its original place. Then he pauses for a second. _What now?_ He could write something casual, a simple greeting, but it doesn’t seem enough. He could ask how he’s doing, but Dean would probably be sick and tired of people asking him if he’s okay at this point. But he’s fresh out of ides, so Castiel types out a simple “ _Hello there. How are you?”_ and signs with his name before clicking _send_ and regrets it within a second. Dean will probably think he’s some kind of crazy stalker, looking up his number and sitting outside his house as he sleeps at night.

Putting his phone back into the pocket of his trench coat, Castiel pushes the thought aside and walks back into the lively flower shop.

It’s a busy and by the time the it’s over, Castiel has forgotten all about the text. That is, until he sees the little envelope in the corner of the screen. Opening the text, his stomach flutter (and what the hell is that about?) as he reads; _“not bad. been working a lot. how bout u?”_

Castiel immediately types out his reply, simple “ _I’m good, thanks_ ” and adds, “ _I got your number from your flower order  by the way so don’t be worried.”_

His phone beeps again a minute later. _“what should i be worried about? i don’t think you’re some crazy stalker if that’s what you meant lol”_ and Castiel chuckles.

“What are you laughing about?” Balthazar’s voice asks behind him and Castiel’s smile turns into a scowl within a second.

“None of your business, that’s what,” Castiel says, voice a little harsher than he intended.

“Oooh, touchy. Is it lover boy?” his colleague purrs, actually _purrs,_ and Castiel shoves his phone back into his pocket before Balthazar can take it from him.

“I am walking away from his conversation right now,” Castiel announces and turns towards the door.

“Send him my love, sweetie,” Balthazar calls out behind him, adding “Use protection!” just as the door slams close behind him.

-

The texting continues through the night when Castiel gets home. He learns that Dean is a mechanic, likes pie, classic rock and old cars. At that, Castiel shines up. Not because he’s got any interest in classic cars, he barely manages to drive modern ones, but because of what’s been parked in his garage for the past year and a half.

 _“Oh really,”_ he types out, “ _I happen to have an old Chevy sitting around at my house, in desperate need of fixing up.”_ and hits _send._

The reply comes just a few seconds later. “ _really!!?_ ” it exclaims, and then, _“what model?”_

 _“A black one.”_ Castiel types back, going back to sipping the black tea he made earlier, looking up as his phone pings.

“ _ok lol. want me to take a look at her?”_ is written on the display, and Castiel smiles. “ _Only of you want to,”_ Castiel writes back, “ _it’s been standing here for ages.”_

 _“i’d love to”,_ comes the reply, “ _you free saturday?”_ and Castiel’s stomach does a backflip.

“ _I am, yes.”_ Castiel types, as well as his address. “ _Only if you really want to though, no pressure.”_ He adds before sending it.

“ _around two-ish sound good?”_ Dean replies, “ _pleasure’s all mine lol”_

Castiel confirms the time and settles back into his sofa. The texting continues for a while longer, topics ranging between music, work and even religion, something Castiel has always considered taboo when talking to people, especially new acquaintances ( _friends?)_ but the conversation flows casually enough so he doesn’t mind much.

When Castiel finally falls asleep late that night, he is smiling, phone curled up in his hand.

-

“Oh, isn’t she a beauty!” Dean exclaims excitedly as he pulls the white sheet of the car.

They’re in the garage connected to Castiel’s small row-house, Dean walking in circles around the car while Castiel is perched atop one of the workbenches. “You think so?” he asks, fiddling with one of the tools lying on top of the table.

“Oh yes,” Dean says, voice all giddy with excitement, “she’s gorgeous! It’s a 67 Chevy Impala, by the way, a real treasure,” he adds.

“Huh,” Castiel says, “I just got it from my brother since he didn’t have any place to put it. It was my dad’s before he died and Gabe inherited it after him.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, eyes flashing with sympathy.

“Don’t be,” Castiel replies, “we hadn’t talked in, what, sixteen years, when he died. We weren’t exactly close.”

“How so?” Dean asks, and then quickly adds, “I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, I don’t want to prod or anything.”

“No, it’s alright,” Castiel says with a smile. “It’s nice to have someone listen at times.” He pauses for a second, contemplating his words. “My dad and I… we had a bit of a fall out. A quite big one, actually. He was highly religious, as are my two oldest brothers, Michael and Lucifer.” Castiel falls silent for a second, chewing on his lower lip. “When I was sixteen, I decided to come out to my family, thinking they would accept me for who I was regardless of my sexual preferences. But I was wrong. Only Gabriel, second youngest brother after Lucifer, stood up for me and since he was nineteen by then and had his own apartment, he let me stay with him for a while until I finished high school. I owe him a lot.” Castiel finishes. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to tell you my entire life story like that,” he adds.

“It’s alright,” Dean says, “talk about a twisted family though. It’s kinda alien to me, since I’ve always been really close to mine.”

“That’s a good thing, Dean. You should cherish it,” Castiel replies, letting go of the tool and starts fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt instead.

Dean picks up a wrench from the ground, turning it over in his hands. “I know. I learned the hard way not to take anyone for granted these past few weeks. Sammy’s the only real family I’ve got left now, like it or not.”

The conversation is taking a turn for a much deeper topic than the both of them are really comfortable with so Castiel says “Well then,” in the exact same moment Dean exclaims the ever awkward silence-breaking “So!”

They both fall silent for a while, just staring at each other, and then Dean starts laughing. Castiel finds himself smiling as well, but mostly at the sound of Dean’s laugh rather than the awkwardness of the situation.

They both spend the afternoon in the garage, Dean explaining what needs to be fixed up on the car, Castiel nodding in understanding and sometimes in pretense of understanding. He stays perched atop the workbench until the sun is setting and Dean rolls out from under the car, wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve.

“It’ll take a couple of weeks to fix her up, maybe more if we’re gonna give her a paint job, but by the time she’s done, she’ll be the prettiest car you’ve ever laid your eyes on,” Dean says.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says while the other man is picking up his tools, putting them back in his toolbox.

“Anytime, Cas” Dean says and smiles at him and Castiel’s stomach does that strange flip again.

He watches as Dean drives off, humming a soft melody as he walks back inside. For the first time in a very long while, he feels completely at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Just promise me we'll be alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Real life came by and punched me in the face. Chapter title from "Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford and Sons. Enjoy!

A week comes and goes, and Dean feels happier than he has in a long time, even before what happened with John. He works hard during the days, and in the afternoons, he spends his time fixing up the Impala in Cas’ garage.

The pain after his father doesn’t feel like someone ripped his beating heart out of his chest and danced the can-can on it for good measure as much as it feels like a dull throbbing _ache_ in the back of his head, like a hangover refusing to go away. There’s a hole where his father used to be, and Dean knows that it never will be filled in completely. But he can try, and right now, he fills the empty spot with Cas and Cas’ garage and Cas’ weird music taste (“It’s indie, Dean,” he says with a judgmental look. “Independent music.”), Cas’ car and Cas’ coffee that’s currently being handed to him in a large, white cup.

“Thanks,” Dean says, dropping the screwdriver he was holding to accept the coffee. Black, two sugars, just like he wants it.

“No problem,” Cas replies, putting down his own cup on a workbench (tea, Dean notices) and taking a seat among the tools and containers of motor oil. Castiel spends a lot of time there, perched on the workbench, always in the same spot. Dean doesn’t mind the company, and they chat away the hours in the garage with classic rock as a background soundtrack.

The few times Castiel isn’t there, when he’s got paperwork or shopping or whatever to do, Dean finds himself missing the florist’s company, his odd, quirky sense of humor and complete ignorance when it comes to things like personal space and sarcasm. It’s a strange friendship they’ve got going on, but then again, the whole purpose of Dean’s life seems to be turning the definition of _strange_ up-side-down.

I voice in the back of his head tells Dean that he’s starting to _like_ the guy, but he wasn’t going to touch that thought with a ten foot pole.

Sam visits once, to look at the car, and Dean thinks that the neighborhood will explode from the pure _geek_ practically vaporizing from his little brother and Cas as they chat about literature and movies and comics and what not. They get along freakishly well and Sam visits two more times to borrow some books that Cas recommended and give him some in return. Dean just rolls his eyes at them.

The car is starting to look real good as well, and Dean can’t help but feel proud over his work. In two week’s time, he’s fixed her up completely, and when Dean puts the key Castiel grabbed from the inside of his house in the ignition, she comes to life under his hands with a soft purr. Dean woops loudly and Castiel cheers and even claps his hands from his spot on the bench.

“Wanna take her for a spin?” Dean asks, leaning out of the rolled down window.

Castiel nods and puts down the book he was reading. “You sure she’s safe?” he asks as he hops down from the bench and Dean laughs. “No idea, but if anything goes wrong, we’ll be the first to know.”

Cas just snorts and gets into the passenger seat next to Dean, making a show out of putting his seatbelt on. Dean rolls his eyes and gently pushes the gas pedal down. With a roar, the Impala jumps forward and Castiel gaps while Dean laughs.

The drive goes more smoothly after that. They drive around the neighborhood, listening to Dean’s cassettes in the speakers. After a while, Cas rolls down his window as well, sticking his head out to feel the breeze. When he sits back down, Dean thinks that his hair looks nice; all ruffled from the wind and he balks at his thoughts. Where the hell did that come from?

When Dean pulls into Cas’ driveway, Castiel tells him to keep the car.

“For now, I mean,” he adds. “you said you had to do the paintjob at the mechanic?”

“Oh, yeah. I can probably start working on it tomorrow, so you’ll get her back in a couple of days,” Dean promises with a smile. He had taken a bus to Cas’ place so that he could drive the Impala to his place and then to the mechanic’s in the morning.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean is pretty sure he doesn’t just mean fixing up the car.

The silence stretches between them and Dean squirms in the driver’s seat. It’s uncomfortable, but Dean is used to long, slightly awkward silences from Castiel. Finally, Dean gets tired of waiting for Cas to say anything and gets out of the car, closing the door behind him. Castiel doesn’t move from the spot.

Dean pokes his head through the rolled down window. “You okay?”

Cas, who’s sitting perfectly still in his seat, looking at a spot somewhere newt to Dean’s head, nods and furrows his brow a little as if he’s in deep thought. Dean opens the door and gets back into the car. “What’s up?” he asks as he sits back down. “Something bothering y-“ And that’s when Cas kisses him square on the mouth.

Castiel’s lips are a little chapped as they move against Dean’s, and Dean can feel the faint taste of sweet tea in his mouth as their tongues move around each other and Cas hands are everywhere, running down Dean’s arms, in his hair, like Cas is thirsting for Dean to come closer and closer and fuck if this isn’t the best kiss Dean has had in a long, long time.

When they break apart, Dean is more than a little breathless and he can bet his right arm that his face is red as well. Cas is just staring at him from the passenger, lips swollen and pupils blown.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asks and it sounded a lot softer in his head.

Cas just looks down at his hands. “I… I apologize? I thought this was what you wanted as well,” he says like he’s talking about a walk in the park and not the fact that just a few seconds before, they’d shoving their tongues down each other’s throats like freaking teenagers.

“You _apologize?”_ Dean asks and he sounds mean even to his own ears. “What made you think I fucking wanted this? What makes you think I’m even gay?”

Castiel flinches like he’s been stung and his blue eyes meet Dean’s for the first time since the kiss. “If you didn’t want this, why would you kiss me back?” he says, and Cas’ cold voice actually sends chills down Dean’s spine. Before Dean can say another word, Cas is out of the car, slamming the passenger door behind him. A moment later, he can hear the front door opening and closing.

Dean leans his forehead against the steering wheel and takes a deep breath. Starting the car back up, he rolls out of the row-house driveway and onto the street outside. He doesn’t see Castiel through the windows of the house and wants more than anything to smack himself in the face with a brick. Even for Dean, what he said was mean and cold but not really uncalled for and Dean hangs on to that thought, that it wasn’t totally his fault it ended this way.

As he rolls out of the neighborhood and onto the highway, Dean thinks that technically, he just stole a car as well.

-

Dean calls in sick the next day. He fakes a cough on the phone with the manager and spends the entire day in his bed watching crap television and eating pizza from the box. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling so bad. It’s not like Castiel meant that much to him. He barely knew the guy and he was a bit weird, anyway. He was always staring and he didn’t like Led Zeppelin and he kept playing his weird indie music in the garage while Dean was trying to work. He shouldn’t be acting like a twelve year old girl with her first heartbreak.

Sam calls once, but Dean ignores it.

He calls in sick the next day as well, saying he’s probably gotten the flu. His coughs are maybe a bit over-exaggerated but the manager seems to buy it.

Sam calls twice, but Dean ignores it both times.

On the third day, Dean Googles ‘indie music’ and then quickly closes the lid of his laptop. _You miss him,_ the voice in his head says. Dean tells the voice to shut the hell up.

On the fifth day of self-isolation, Sam actually kicks down his front door.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean yells from his position on the couch when the door lands on his door carpet, one of those printed ones, exclaiming “ _WELCOME!”_ in cheerful text. (It was a present from Jess when he first moved into the apartment along with curtains and mugs and other things that you’re supposed to have in a home).

“When was the last time you were outside?” Sam asks, pushing his long hair out of his eyes.

“Well hello to you too,” Dean mutters and curls up into the couch. “You owe me a new door.”

Sam makes some kind of vague waving motion which Dean is fairly sure is Sam-speak for “ _we’ll deal with that later, first we’re going to have a long heartfelt talk about our feelings and braid each other’s hair_.”

“Scoot over,” his little brother says and plops down on the couch next to Dean.

“Why the B.E?” Dean asks and curls up further into the couch.

“You’ve been cooped up here for days, you won’t answer your phone and you call in sick from work. You never call in sick from work,” Sam says but Dean knows that it’s not all he’s got to say. “I… I ran into Cas, Dean. Yesterday.”

That gets Dean’s attention. “What? Where?” he asks, and curses himself for the needy, slightly whiny sound of his own voice.

“Just randomly, in town. He didn’t say much, just a hello and that was that. He didn’t look very well, Dean.”

“What do you mean, not well?” Dean asks. He shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t but he can’t help himself.

“He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. More of a mess than usual.” Sam fiddles with the hem of his shirt, then looks up. “You should talk to him, Dean. I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but it’s destroying you both.”

Dean scoffs. “This isn’t freaking Disney, Samantha. He’s not going to run into my arms and live happily ever after in a pink castle with me. He’s most likely to punch me in the face.”

“Which you most likely deserve,” Sam says with a smirk. Dean pushes at his shoulder. “Really, though,” Sam continues, “I know what you’re like. As soon as somebody gets to close, you run away. It’s how you work, and I don’t think Castiel has understood that yet. I’m not asking you to kiss and make up or whatever,” Dean gags at that, “I’m just asking you to talk to the guy. Please, Dean.”

“I…. fine. Fine. I’ll talk to him. See, I agreed. Now will you get me a new door?” Dean says.

Sam looks at him in something Dean almost calls pride. He’s got a big girl for a little brother.

-

“Castiel Novak, if you don’t at least _try_ to look alive, I’m going to have to fire you,” Balthazar says and swats his arm with a rolled up magazine.

“You can’t fire me, you’re not my boss,” Castiel mumbles, turning a lily over and over in his hand.

“Then I’ll make Anna do it,” his superior says seriously and Castiel is only half sure it’s a joke. “I know you’re heartbroken and all that, but you’re scaring the customers, Cassie.”

“I’m not heartbroken,” Castiel snaps.

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “Sure thing, sweetheart. You’ve been moping about for a week, not talking, barely eating. You probably listen to post-breakup music on your lunch break. These, my friend, are the symptoms of heartbreak,” Balthazar says, smacking his newspaper down on the counter. “What did the guy do to you anyway?”

Castiel just glares.

“Fine, be that way. But if you’re going to act like that, you might as well do it somewhere else.”

“Are you seriously firing me?” Castiel asks and the way he just can’t bring himself to _care_ is frightening.

“No, I’m telling you to go home. Rest. Get laid. Whatever. And don’t come back until you’re human,” Balthazar says, going in behind the curtains to grab Castiel’s trench coat and shoves it in Cas’ arms.

“Go away, darling, I don’t have all day,” the older man says, waving his hands in the general direction of the door.

Castiel pulls his jacket on slowly, putting down the lily on the counter. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want you sulking here, sweetie. Off you pop. Chup chup.”

Castiel grabs his bag from the back and goes before Balthazar can start with real threats.

-

The 67 Chevy Impala outside his house wasn’t there when he left, of that Castiel is sure. There’s someone leaning against the frame and Castiel stops and almost turns on his heels and takes a run for it, but the other man has already spotted him.

“Cas,” the familiar voice says, all husky like he’s not been talking much today. “What brings you to the neighborhood?”


	5. Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Sway" by The Kooks. Enjoy!

The goddamn paint job had taken him two days to finish, but it looked more than good after all of Dean’s hard work.

Leaning against the Impala on the familiar driveway made him itchy all over. Dean could feel his pulse drumming in his ears and his jeans were getting slightly damp from the hand sweat repeatedly wiped off on them. He had no reason to be this nervous, not really, but he wanted more than anything else to sink through the ground and disappear.

The trench coat wasn’t hard to spot as it came walking down the street. Why Castiel kept wearing his slightly too-big coat, Dean would never know, but he had to admit that it was pretty endearing. This whole mess’ turning Dean into a girl, for sure. “I say we blame Sammy,” he mutters to himself and kicks a few pebbles with his worn to hell boot.

He’s pretty sure Cas hasn’t noticed him yet, the guy’s wearing ear buds and keeps looking at the ground in front of him as he walks, and Dean has to fight the overwhelming urge to run as fast and far as his legs can hold him. He doesn’t though, just grips the frame of the car for some extra support. Dean Winchester is strong. Dean Winchester doesn’t run.

Castiel is just a few rows of houses away when he glances up and Dean tries to categorize his reaction as the florist spotted him. Cas freezes on the spot, eyes darting to the sides, taking one, two steps backward. That wasn’t a good sign. He seemed to compose himself, walking up to his own driveway, eyeing Dean carefully as if he was going to out a knife in his back.

“Cas,” Dean says and his throat feels uncomfortably tight, “What brings you to the neighborhood?”

Castiel doesn’t meet his eyes, just keeps staring at the ground. “Dean.”

“I… She’s done now. The car, I mean. I painted her and fixed a few interior things, so she should be good to go,” Dean says and the whole situation is so awkward he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

Castiel just nods, studying his shoes with incredible attention. “Thank you. I’ll pay for the reparation, of course,” he says and Dean balks.

“No way, man, this was just for fun. Totally free, promise. And if you try to insist or whatever, I’ll punch you.”

Cas looks up at this, actually meets his eyes and Dean thinks that he can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Process, baby steps.

“Alright then. Thank you, Dean. She looks very nice.”

“No problem, Cas.” Silence stretches afterwards, and it’s not so much the comfortable silence the pair used to share during the weeks in the garage, but more of a heavy, uncomfortable silence that makes Dean want to strangle himself.

“Listen, Cas, and I can’t believe I’m saying this because I hate talking about my feelings and stuff, it gives me rashes all over and Sam says that I’m emotionally retarded or something and I’m probably rambling right now but my point is that I’m sorry. I freaked out and it wasn’t your fault,” Dean has to stop and take a breath. “I… I like you. A lot. And I missed talking to you, so please could we give this whole thing another go? I won’t screw up this time, I promise. This whole thing probably sounds really cliché but I mean it, Cas.” At the end of his little speech, Dean is shaking, his knees feeling like they’re vibrating against each other.

Castiel doesn’t say anything for a long while, just keeps watching Dean with that thoughtful expression of his and Dean starts to squirm under his stare. When he finally starts talking, Dean is ready to start climbing walls. “No… I’m the one who’s sorry, Dean. I thought things about you, things that I shouldn’t have thought, and I rushed into it. Turns out, neither of us are ready for this,” Castiel pauses and Deans heart is dropping to his feet. “I think it’s best if we just go our separate ways now,” he finishes. “Maybe someday we’ll meet again, and we’ll see how things turn out then,” Cas says and Dean manages a shaky nod.

“Yeah. Yes, absolutely,” he says and it feels like he sould say something more, a perfect line like in the movies butt all he manages is a choked out “See you around then, Cas,” and then he turns on his heels, walking down the driveway and onto the street.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel says behind him and it feels so final, like a chapter ending in a book. 

Sam calls when he’s halfway home, shivering in the cold air and Dean picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, Sammy.”

“How did it go?” Sam’s voice says on the other end Dean shakes his head until he remembers Sam can’t see him. “He liked the car,” Dean says and when his brother starts breaking out into Oh, I’m so sorry’s Dean interrupts with a “I’m fine, Sam. Really, no big deal.” He can’t handle pity right now. Or ever.

“It is a big deal,” Sam says and Dean knows Sam would hug him if he were here. “You really liked the guy.”

“That’s what I told him,” Dean says with a sigh. “No can do, baby doll.”

“You told him about your feelings?” Sam asks in mock surprise. “He must be special for sure.”

“Cram it, asshole,” Dean says with a half assed snort and hangs up on his brother.

As he walks the rest of the way home, Dean can’t help but think that Sam, for once, had a point.

-

Dean spends the following two months of his life in a blur of work, bad telly and not nearly enough sleep. He’s fixing up a black 57 Cadillac, basically a wreck when it first came in but starting to look real nice, and it takes up most of his time. Sometimes his thoughts drift to a certain blue eyes florist, but Dean usually buries those thoughts deep down in the corners of his mind under a pile of hypothetical bricks.

Sam, however, is in complete panic. Jess’ birthday is coming up, and the arrangements for her surprise party is slowly driving Dean’s little brother insane. It’s not going to be a big blast, just a small gathering of friends and family, but as the obsessive compulsive freak that he is, Sam wants everything to be perfect.

“You’re even worse than Jess before your wedding,” Dean tells him one day when Sam is choosing between the chicken and the turkey plates from catering.

“Thank you,” Sam mumbles as he’s turning pages in the catalogue.

“What should I get her, by the way?” Dean asks, turning a bottle of soda over in his hands.

Sam drops the catalogue on the kitchen table and slams it shut. “She doesn’t like big gifts for some reason. Give her something expensive and she’ll go nuts. Go for… I don’t know, flowers?”

Dean ponders this for a moment and says, “You know, most girls want diamonds and gold and crap. I think you’ve got yourself a catch.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah. Jess is special,” he says and Dean smiles at the pure love in his brother’s voice.

That’s how, on the morning of Jess’ birthday, Dean finds himself outside Heavenly Flowers. He still can’t see a damn thing inside of the shop because of the flowers piled up in the display window. A quick glance on his phone tells him that he’s been standing outside for approximately eight minutes and he doesn’t feel any more eager to go inside as the minutes tick by.

“Oh, screw it,” Dean mutters and shoves his old phone back into his pocket, pushing the door open. The shop welcomes him with the tingling of a bell and the sweet smell of fresh flowers.

Castiel is behind the counter, helping a customer with her bouquet and Dean stops behind the woman, rocking on the balls of his heels. Castiel’s eyes snap up and fixes Dean with a stare ha can’t really place, and he quickly hands the woman her receipt as she leaves.

“What are you doing here?” Cas asks quietly and the bitterness in his voice stings.

“Way to treat a customer,” Dean says with a snort. “I’m looking for some flowers. Obviously. Something nice, for a birthday.”

Cas sighs and rounds the counter. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I’m sure Balthazar is free. I’ll go get him, just a minute.”

“Oh, well, then I could just go somewhere else, I suppose,” Dean shoots at him and Cas tilts his head in that otherworldly fashion he’s got going when there’s something he doesn’t understand. “I mean, you’ve got a rep and all. Heard you were the best florist around,” Dean adds.

Castiel sighs again and tugs at a lock of his hair. “Fine. Fine. Who’s birthday?” he snaps and Dean is almost taken aback by the exasperation in his voice, like he just wants Dean to get out of his face, as soon as possible, please and thank you.

“Look, Cas, I’ve got this kinda cheesy point of view that you should always look forward and never back, you know. Taking chances and all that.” Dean gets Cas’ attention with that, fixing him with those bright blue eyes that seems to be drilling into Dean’s skull.

“Yes?” Castiel asks, and suddenly, he doesn’t seem quite that distant anymore.

“Oh yeah. I’m all for starting up at page one, fixing up past mistakes and rewriting what’s been done,” Dean says with a smirk tugging at his lips.

Cas sighs for the third time in five minutes, running his hand through his already beyond-messy and Dean extends his hand. 

“Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.” Cas takes Dean’s hand in his and shakes it once before letting go.

“Castiel Novak. My pleasure. A birthday, you said?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but I've been sick and busy with school and work and all that. This is officially the final chapter of Timshel, but I'll put up an epilogue soon... ish. Thank you for reading!


	6. ...and it will set you free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's epilogue time! Chapter title from the Mumford and Sons quote: "Love will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free" from the song "Sigh No More". Oh, and if anyone wanted to know, Timshel roughly translates into "thou mayest" with basically means free will. Enjoy!

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, you know,” Dean mumbles in Castiel’s ear, leaning over his shoulder.

“Yes, it does!” Cas exclaims, putting down the small knife he was using. “It’s their anniversary, Dean. It has to look perfect.”

“You’re even worse than Sam,” Dean teases, hopping up on the flower shop counter, watching Castiel work at his table. “What are you doing, anyway?”

Castiel snorts. “Glad you’re paying attention.”

“I’m always paying attention, just to the right things,” Dean shoots back and Cas smiles. “Do you put it on the wall?”

“It’s a table piece, smartass. For the tables.”

“How was I to know? I’m no florist.” Dean grins. “You certainly are not,” Castiel agrees, pulling a flower out of his arrangement and shortening the stem. “Remember that time with the roses and the-“

“Yes,” Dean interrupts. “We agreed not to talk about that, remember?”

“Oh no, you proposed a suggestion. I was just listening and did therefore not agree to anything.”

Dean looks down on his hands in his lap, mind caught on the word _propose_ for a second. “Fine, whatever. Are you going to be done any time this year? We need to get going.”

“We need to get going in about four hours, Dean, there’s no rush.” Castiel says calmly and sprays some water from a bottle on his arrangement.

“I know, I just want to see you in a blazer as soon as possible,” Dean says with a smirk.

Castiel throws his water bottle at Dean’s head.

He misses.

-

Dean has been waiting forever, perched on a kitchen counter while Cas is doing whatever he’s doing in the bedroom. Painting his nails, maybe, Dean thinks and sniggers to himself at the thought of Castiel with hot pink nail polish to go with his usually serious face. Sometimes Dean wants to call Cas out on how terrifically _gay_ his boyfriend is, but usually remembers that he’s not that much better, sleeping with a guy and all.

Their shared three room apartment is small, but it’s alright. Castiel has been talking about wanting to get a cat, but Dean thinks it’s a bit cruel to keep pets inside in a tiny apartment on the third floor. Cas had promised he’d take it outside every day and Dean suddenly felt immense compassion with every father ever with a young daughter whining about getting a pony, because that’s kind of what Dean’s situation looks like, except his five-year old could write a book on the art of puppy eyes.

Dean has a few ads with kittens bookmarked on his laptop along with a how-to guide, but Cas won’t be the wiser for quite some time.

The kitchen walls are still quite bare, but there’s a framed picture on the wall that Dean put up a few weeks ago. It’s about a month old and it’s Dean’s favorite picture of all time. There’s Jess with her big stomach, Sam’s arm around her waist. Dean’s brother is grinning at the camera and Bobby is in his wheelchair by Sam’s side, growling at the camera.  Dean’s got his arm around Castiel’s shoulder and Cas is leaning into his touch, identical grins on their faces. Next to the couple, Cas’ brother Gabriel is making a stupid face at the camera, making his boyfriend Balthazar crack up.

Castiel stuck a photo into the frame after it had been put up, and old polaroid from Dean’s parents wedding, and told Dean that it completed the look with a kiss on the cheek.

The Impala is parked in the underground garage of the apartment complex and Dean polishes her every weekend. Castiel usually watches and plays his weird music and calls Dean a freak for caring more about a car than actual humans.

All in all, it’s a pretty good arrangement they’ve got going on, and Dean can honest to God say that he’s happy.

“Well, fuck me,” Dean says when Cas finally steps out of their bedroom, adjusting his deep blue tie as he goes. His boyfriend ( _boyfriend?_ ) is wearing black jeans, a white shirt and a black blazer to go. Dean fights the impulse to wolf-whistle because _wow._ He suddenly feels underdressed in his dark jeans and green dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves but the look in Cas’ eyes tells him that he looks fine.

“No, that’s for later. Let’s go,” Cas smirks and holds the car keys up, jingling them in the air.

-

It’s not a big party this time either, just the closest friends and family sharing food and memories and it all goes along smoothly. Cas claims he’s not hungry and then continuously steals food from Dean’s plate thorough the whole evening. Dean grabs his ass in return and Cas squeals and nearly drops his drink (a Cosmopolitan, _really_?) in surprise.

They chat with Bobby, who’s taken Castiel under his wings as surrogate child along with the Winchester brothers. When the conversation drifts dangerously close to the topic of cars, Cas rolls his eyes and stalks off to “share an intelligent conversation”, as he says, with Sam. Dean just calls it geeking out together forever.

It’s almost twelve o’clock when the boys decide to leave, and they both promptly realize that neither are in any shape to drive. So they start walking down the street under the stars and city lights. They’re in the middle of the road, there’s not much traffic in this neighborhood anyway, and Castiel is pointing out the constellations in the night sky as they walk.

Dean takes his hand a few houses down the street and tells himself it’s for the sake of his balance. Cas doesn’t mind, just squeezes it a little as he keeps talking about the stars he’s seeing, head tilted upwards. That’s when Dean stops walking and Cas stops with him.

“That’s Ursa Minor,” Cas informs him, and points upwards. “What?” he asks a moment later when he notices Dean isn’t looking, eyes fixing Dean instead of the night sky.

“Nothing,” Dean says, a smile tugging at his lips, “Just…” and then his lips are on Cas’ like they have been so many times before and it’s _hello_ and _I love you_ and _I really really hope you know_ because it’s everything Dean doesn’t know how to say.

When they part, Castiel looks at him for a second and them smiles. “Yeah. Me too,” he says and squeezes Dean’s hand again.

“Do you see that?” Cas asks and points at the sky when they start walking again, Dean half a step behind him. “It looks like the Impala, don’t you think?”

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that is the end of Timshel. Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed it!


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